


Methos' Eggsellent Adventure

by ReneeMR



Category: Hghlander - Fandom
Genre: Duncan - Freeform, Highlander - Freeform, Joe Dawson - Freeform, M/M, Richie Ryan - Freeform, methos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-16
Updated: 2002-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReneeMR/pseuds/ReneeMR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breakfast and more when Methos invites the boys over for omelets.</p><p>Originally posted 2-16-02</p>
            </blockquote>





	Methos' Eggsellent Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Methos slipped the last perfect omelet from the pan. He took it to the table and joined his friends. "How is it..." He stopped. And stared in abject horror. Disgust. He actually gasped.

"What?" Richie looked over at the old man.

"Methos?"

MacLeod and Joe looked at each other. Just minutes before, the ancient one had been regaling them with stories about eggs. And how he had influenced the creation and art of eggly cuisine. And swore that 'deviled' eggs had been his invention.

"I cannot believe you three. Have you no shame? Look what you've done"

"What?"

All Methos could do was point.

The Scot looked down at his plate. "So?"

"So, it's a bloody mess, Mac. You put catsup on a world-class omelet."

Methos sighed heavily and shook his head.

"Bad Mac," Rich snickered. Then chortled.

"Yeah," Joe agreed and started to laugh too.

Methos turned a jaundiced eye on them and their laughter faded abruptly.

"And you, Ryan. Yours are pink. Think you have enough Tabasco on them?"

"Well..."

Methos raised his hand. "No, don't want to hear it." Then he turned to the Watcher. "And you, Joe..."

The greybeard sat back in his chair. "Yeah? What's wrong with it? It's not bloody." He glared at MacLeod. "Or pink." He looked pointedly at the youngest immortal.

"No. It's...it's grey and it looks like scrambled brains. What the hell did you do with the omelet I made you?"

"It's grape jelly, Methos. My Dad ate his scrambled eggs this way all his life."

"And your point would be? And that is not scrambled eggs."

Joe looked at his friends for support. Don't give in, he thought. Be strong. "I like it like this."

"Yeah."

"Right."

Methos looked at the three of them. "Have it your way," he finally said. He took his plate and went into the living area and turned his back on the others.

A moment later he was startled by their howls of near hysterical laughter.

"What are you hyenas going on about now?"

MacLeod managed to stop laughing long enough to answer. "You're a hypocrite."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't go all innocent, Methos. You just doused *your* omelet with maple syrup."

"You are so caught, old-timer," Rich said. He pushed away from the table. "It's been great, but I gotta run."

"Me too, thanks Adam. Hold the elevator, junior." Joe went out with Rich.

"Great. Thanks guys, eat and run." Methos looked over at the Highlander.

"You too?"

"Yeah, estate sale."

The Scot looked at his friend for a moment. "Want to go with me?"

"Are you serious?" Methos wasn't sure he'd heard right. They hadn't exactly been close since coming back to Seacouver. He had missed spending time with MacLeod.

"Sure." He nodded. "Yeah, let me take care of the dishes and get changed."

"No time. You change and I'll take care of the kitchen."

 

Methos laughed. "Mac, I know you didn't--couldn't have. But this damn well looks like a set up."

"Doesn't it?" The Highlander had to agree. What were the odds that the estate had belonged to a former poultry industrialist? One who had collected all things fowl.

"God, Mac." The Scot turned to see Methos holding up a little box. "It's one of those things to make square boiled eggs."

"You know, you watch way too many infomercials, Methos."

"Yes, 'Mr. Three-Sets-of-Ginsu-Knives.'"

"Hey, those were gifts."

"Right." Methos smirked. Then something really interesting caught his eye.

"Ooh. Books. Cookbooks!"

MacLeod sighed. "I'm going to look around some more. I'll meet you here when I'm ready to go."

"Hm? Oh. 'Kay." Methos was already distracted.

Except it hadn't gone that way. MacLeod was continually drawn back to Methos' side. They'd talked, and argued. And laughed. And they'd touched without thought or care. Like--lovers. The idea thrilled the Scot as nothing had for a very long time. And the more he thought about it, the more his desire grew.

The Highlander studied the old man. He wondered what Methos would say about that. Not that he would ever know.

 

"You weren't too bored, were you, Methos?" The Scot looked over at the man sprawled in the passenger seat of his T-bird. How did he do that? Was it age? Did he practice? Was he that limber--or double jointed? What other positions could he get into? Stop, MacLeod, he thought.

"It was fun, Mac. Really. Thanks for bidding on the books for me."

"Sure, Methos."

The rest of the trip back to Methos' apartment was made in silence. Unusual. And MacLeod was a bit worried. He finally got the courage to voice his concern when he pulled up and parked.

"Something wrong?"

The ancient immortal shook his head. "No. Not really. I was just... It's been a while since we spent time together. I mean alone. Not with the guys. I thought..." He just trailed off and looked out of the window.

"Thought what?"

Methos opened his door and got out. "Want to come in and have a beer?"

"Why not?" Maybe a beer would loosen the old man up.

So, there they were. The Highlander sat at one end of Methos' couch and regarded him. He wore an amused grin. Methos was sprawled--half buried--among the cushions at the other end. His bare feet were propped on the coffee table.

"So, what were you thinking?"

"Hm?" Methos had hoped the Scot would have forgotten his previous question.

"You were really quiet earlier. You said you were thinking."

"Ah. Yeah, I was. I was thinking things have changed. I miss you, Mac. Today just showed me how much."

"I was thinking the same thing, Methos." MacLeod sighed. "I said and did some things I'm not proud of, you know?"

"Happens to the best of us, my friend."

The Scot leaned forward and set his beer on the table. He turned to look back at Methos. "Am I?"

Methos regarded MacLeod with a bemused look on his face. "What? My friend? Of course, Mac." He reached out and touched the man's shoulder.

"And if I wanted to be...more, Methos?" He took the hand that rested so casually on him, and looked at it. Strong, yet elegant and well-shaped. He turned it over and traced the calluses he found there. MacLeod raised his eyes to study Methos' face. And what he saw on that face, in the whisky-amber eyes was...

MacLeod held his breath waiting for Methos to say--something.

But the ancient man didn't speak. Instead, he stood and pulled the Scot up with him. Silently he led him into his bedroom. He closed the door behind them. Then he went to his knees before the man he'd first lusted after, then come to love.

"Methos," the Highlander hissed. "Get up..."

"No." Methos looked up as he reached for the fly of MacLeod's jeans. "I want to do this. I've dreamed of doing this... Ah. Perfect."

Perfect. Yes. MacLeod agreed totally. Absolutely. And then his brain shut right down.

Methos grabbed his lover's slumping body and managed to dump him onto the bed. Then he had to wrestle him out of his clothes. He grinned as he worked to reveal the body that would have made DaVinci weep.

He had just sat down on the edge of the bed when the Scot began to rouse. "What the fuck did you do, Methos," MacLeod asked in a happily dazed voice. "That never happened before."

"Hm?" Methos looked over his shoulder. The sight of his disheveled lover made him smile. Then he got up and joined him on the bed. "Well, there hasn't been any actual fucking. Yet."

The Highlander tried to glare at him, but a goofy smile won out.

Methos kissed the goofy smile, then leaned on an elbow while he idly ran a hand over MacLeod's chest. "Nothing unusual, Mac. But they do say practice makes perfect."

"All right, 'Mr. Perfect,' show me."

"Does that mean what I think it means, Mac?"

"If you think it means I want you to fuck me. Yes."

Methos nodded his head. His Highlander was just full of surprises today. And Methos was ignoring the nasty, nagging voice that was gibbering about mornings-after. And whispering about fuck-buddies. And telling him he was a fool to have fallen in love with MacLeod. Yeah, like he didn't already know all that good shit.

"Oh, I can do that, Mac. Yes." Methos leaned in to start with a kiss.

Simple.

Except that the Highlander had other ideas. He pulled his lover closer and pressed against him. "I don't need a seduction, Methos. I've been ready for you since we walked in here."

"Mac, Duncan..."

"Say that again."

"What?"

"Duncan. Say my name. You never say it."

"Duncan."

"Methos."

God, the ancient man thought. He was fucked. Right royally fucked. When MacLeod said his name.

"All right. Maybe you don't need a seduction, but I want to anyway. Consider it part of my unique charm."

Laughing, the Scott slid away to loll among the pillows. "Anything you want, love."

His eyes glinting gold and green, Methos smiled down on his lover. "Everything. I want everything," he said softly. Then he leaned in to capture his lover's full lips. Lips that parted eagerly. Lips that welcomed him in.

Tongues touched. Tentatively at first. Then growing bolder until Methos had to move on. Had to taste more of the Highlander. He kissed his way down the strong column of his throat. Paused briefly to suckle an earlobe. And to chuckle quietly at the noises MacLeod was making.

The old man moved between his lover's thighs. Bent to nip sensitive flesh. To suck and massage the hardened, taut nipples. To kiss down the arrow of dark hair that pointed the way to his lover's sex. Methos sat back and took both their straining erections in his hands.

MacLeod quivered and shook as wave after wave of erotic pleasure coursed through him. "God, Methos," he managed to say finally. "Do it. Fuck me. Don't...don't want to...beg..."

"No, Duncan. You don't have to beg." Methos kissed him again.

Moving back slightly, he stripped the fluids from both their cocks. Then spread the Highlander's thighs wide. He used a dripping finger to press inside his lover.

A sighed, 'ah', and a wiggle against the intruder was encouragement enough for the oldest immortal. He positioned himself against his lover and pressed in. The Scot's level of arousal allowed Methos' entry in one smooth motion. Then Methos stopped and waited. He wanted to savor this sweet moment. He dropped his head and kissed his lover.

"Duncan," he whispered. Almost a question. Even as his own cock strained within the Scot's hot sheath, he could feel his lover's erection fade.

"Methos. I'm fine. It...happens. Just..." MacLeod rocked his hips and their groins melded even tighter.

"Oh, god, yes," Methos growled. He thrust hard into his lover, drew back and thrust again.

"Yes. Like that." The Scot pulled his knees back farther to allow Methos greater access. He'd never had a lover like Methos before. He growled imprecations, threats, promises. He was wracked with shudders of such intense pleasure he was soon babbling incoherently.

And all of it spurred Methos on. And on. And on. Until they reached a tremendous, almost violent crest as he pounded into his lover.

The old man fell into orgasm, and dragged MacLeod with him.

Neither was more than semiconscious as they collapsed together.

 

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER...

"Ya know, Methos, this is nice." Joe looked down at the stack of pancakes, side of sausage and fruit he'd been served.

"Mmm," Rich mumbled around a mouthful. He washed it down with half his glass of milk. "Yeah."

"Thanks, guys. Glad you like it." Methos poured out batter for another batch onto the electric griddle.

"Seriously, this is fun. Coming here on Saturday mornings. Maria's Mom used to do this."

Joe nodded. "My Mom and my aunts would switch off. Sunday mornings, though. You know, after early Mass."

"Ah. Yes, in the old days." Methos shook his head.

"So, where's Mac? Bet he had a hot date last night." Rich grinned as he accepted another stack of pancakes.

"As a matter of fact, I think he..." Methos started to say.

Joe shook his head. "Nah. You two were in the bar until I threw you out last night."

Then he realized what Methos had said. What he had said.

And as if on cue the bedroom door opened and MacLeod walked out. Wearing just boxers. He stopped, yawned and stretched, then went into the bathroom.

"So, guys." Methos smirked as two heads swiveled around to stare at him. "Mac wants me to make French Toast next weekend. Can we count you in?"

 

End


End file.
